


The Man Who Sold The World

by Brenda



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Because Bruce, Denial of Feelings, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, POV Bruce Wayne, Porn with Feelings, The Author Regrets Nothing, banter as foreplay, if you know what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: Modern AU where Bruce Wayne is a very high-class escort/companion, and is under contract to Crown Prince Arthur Curry for the month.





	The Man Who Sold The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuro49](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/gifts).



> The background is a mash-up of both comics and the DCEU - just think Ben and Jason visually, but keeping with their comics' ages. :)

Even after all these years, Bruce was still nervous meeting a client for the first time. Oh, he'd never shown it, of course; he was far too professional for that. But, lucrative though his line of work was, so much had the potential to go wrong from the outset. 

That was why his own research was so meticulous, and why The Agency had such a stringent vetting policy. It wasn't just for the clients' peace of mind – although that was of paramount importance – but also for The Agency's own accountability. Reputation was everything in this business: lose it and it was gone forever. And Bruce's reputation with both The Agency and with his clients was platinum. He'd been the companion of royalty, heads of state, and the CEOs of some of the world's biggest conglomerates, and moved in the rarefied circles of the ultra-wealthy with ease. He prided himself on the fact that he spoke several languages, that he could talk about last night's Premier League score with the same authority that he did the derivatives market, that he could plan a ten-course meal or cook an intimate dinner for two with equal skill – he was at home navigating crowded parties while also excelling at one-on-one conversation. And every single client he'd ever had raved about him, with several trying to woo him away from The Agency permanently. (There was also the sheik who had been very determined to make Bruce a gift for his daughter.)

And, yet, those long moments waiting to introduce himself in person were nerve-wracking.

He busied himself checking over the room one last time. The Brook Penthouse at Claridges in Mayfair was one of the most expensive suites in London, and looked every inch of it. It was over 3000 square feet, with its own dedicated staff, boasting two massive bedrooms, two baths, walk-in closets that were bigger than Bruce's own apartment, and a full bar and dining room – not to mention the rooftop terrace and the fireplace in the living room.

Even Bruce, who was well-used to the five-star needs of his clients, was impressed. The last time he'd stayed here, he'd been in the service of a Malaysian princess and the walls and furnishings had been a soft shade of pink. Now, the decor was modern, with a Deco twist: the colors bold blues and greens, and the walls painted a creamy white. And there was now a Jacuzzi in the master bedroom, with an infinity tub on the terrace. But, at £10k sterling a night, and with the suite booked for the entire month, his client probably could have asked for whatever the hell he wanted and gotten it.

Bruce turned from the window at the sound of the door opening and smoothed his tie down over his suit – a two-piece slate-grey Dolce and Gabbana – with a welcoming smile on his face.

The suite's butler, resplendent in coattails, was the first one in, followed by a bellhop pushing a luggage cart – they disappeared into the master bedroom without a word. And, right on their heels, in strolled His Royal Highness Arthur Joseph Curry, oldest son of King Orin Curry, and the heir to the throne of the mighty Atlantean Empire.

Bruce had studied photographs and vids, read the bio The Agency had sent his way, and done his own homework, but he was still impressed by the casual aura of raw power emanating from the other man. Curry was tall – taller even than Bruce – and solidly built, his frame shown to exquisite perfection in his bespoke moss-green suit. But he wore the suit with the casual indifference of a man who knew he didn't need it to command respect, and the way his gaze swept over every inch of the room – Bruce included – spoke of a man who was used to power and wealth and knew how to wield both.

His face looked as if it had been chiseled from marble, with strong lines and an arrogant tilt to his chin, and piercing blue eyes that reminded Bruce of uncut sapphires. It was a face saved from total austerity by luxuriously long, rich sable hair, carelessly tied back with a worn strap of leather.

Bruce had a momentary, insane urge to yank on the strap.

Instead, he stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "Your Highness – it's a pleasure, sir. I'm Bruce Wayne, from The Agency, and your companion for the month."

Curry took his hand, grip firm and no-nonsense, and that gaze swept over him in something that looked like approval. "Arthur'll do just fine when we're in private, Mr. Curry when we're out and about." His voice rumbled low and rough, like a Harley engine, and carried more than a hint of his native Atlantis in it. "You're much better-looking than your photos."

"I hope that's a compliment."

"Only if you're as smart as you look," Curry – Arthur – replied, slipping into fluent Mandarin.

A test. And not a particularly hard one.

"I do my best," Bruce replied, also in Mandarin – and, because he _had_ done his homework and Arthur struck him as the type who needed to see something to be impressed by it, switched to Russian. "May I offer you a drink?"

The only reaction was the slightest incline of Arthur's head. It felt like a victory. "A gin and tonic would hit the spot," he replied, switching back to English. "Your accent is immaculate."

"I was the companion of a Ukrainian oil magnate for three months," Bruce said, crossing the room to the bar. "I'm a quick study."

"Noted."

The butler and bellhop reappeared. "If there's anything else, Your Highness..."

Arthur shook his head. "No, Michael, thank you. Just press the herringbone for my morning meeting, and if you could ring Mr. Chen to come by tomorrow for Bruce's measurements, I'd appreciate it."

"Certainly, sir."

The doors closed with a click behind them. Bruce set Arthur's drink on the bar. "I have an array of suits –"

"I'm sure you do, and you look great in the one you're wearing – Dolce, right? – but never let it be said that a prince wouldn't spring for a new wardrobe for his companion."

"Understood." Bruce was well used to the subtle power plays of the world Arthur inhabited.

Arthur picked up the heavy crystal tumbler and took a sip. "Now I _am_ impressed. You remembered the squeeze of lemon."

"You wouldn't have hired me unless you knew I had an eye for the small details."

Arthur's smile this time was toothy and amused. "Meaning, fuck you, stop testing me?"

Bruce felt his own lips tug upwards in response. "Meaning, test me however you like, if that's what you want."

"Yeah, you'll do just fine, Bruce Wayne," Arthur proclaimed. "Is that your real name, by the way? And feel free to make yourself a drink. While you're with me, I expect you to make yourself at home."

Bruce poured himself a Buffalo Trace O.F.C., neat. "Yes, it's my real name. Never occurred to me to have another, although I suppose I could. But I'm not ashamed of my profession and using a pseudonym might imply that I am, or that I can't be trusted."

"Fair point." Arthur strode to the double doors leading out to the rooftop terrace. Bruce followed him outside and dropped to the lounge chair opposite him. It was a gorgeous day, unseasonably warm for London, and the sunset was brilliant – painting the sky shades of pink and orange, red and gold. Beyond, the city was spread out before them, cold and aloof and unimpressed. This was a city used to royalty, steeped in its own power and rich history – a city that had survived and thrived for thousands of years, in spite of the machinations of mankind. There was no other place like it in the world, teeming with life and vitality, and somehow above it all at the same time.

Bruce turned from the view to the man sitting across from him, and studied the arrogant profile, the slope of Arthur's nose, the elegant arch of his neck, the incongruous smattering of freckles across his cheeks. The breeze ruffled the ends of his hair and when he took another sip of his drink, his Adam's apple bobbed enticingly. 

Bruce never got particularly attached to his clients – he liked some more than others, but the job was the job and he did it exceptionally well. Emotion – real emotion – had no place in it. He knew his place and never stepped over that line, always took his cues from who he was with and saved the honest, true parts of himself for his family and few friends and the occasional 'real' lover.

But something about Arthur tugged at his gut in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time. Maybe it was that he was of an age with Bruce, or maybe it was that his arrogance didn't bleed over into cruelty, or maybe it was that he reminded Bruce of London itself – powerful and filled with life, and yet insouciant as fuck about it. But, whatever it was, Bruce knew he'd have to be extra careful.

"So tell me a little about yourself," he said, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Something not in your file."

Arthur slid him a sidelong look. "What's in my file?"

Like he wouldn't have a copy of it. "Are we still doing this?" Bruce asked, mildly.

"Habit." Arthur shrugged; not quite an apology, but Bruce hadn't expected one. "While you're with me, I expect your honesty and discretion and attention. I don't expect to be waited on hand and foot, and I'm not paying you to be my whore. You're an employee, not a slave, so you'll be afforded that respect, and I expect it as well. What I don't want is a sycophant."

"Good, because that's not something I could give you." Bruce found that the earlier he and his clients had this conversation, the better for everyone involved. It was yet another mark in Arthur's favor that he'd brought it up first. "But I am here, presumably, to make sure your needs are being met, so some verbal direction wouldn't go amiss."

"I really do like you," Arthur said, with something like surprise tinging his voice.

"You weren't expecting to?" Arthur should have had full access to Bruce's file as well, to determine compatibility.

"I wasn't expecting anything." Arthur shifted slightly so he was facing Bruce, the full weight of those ocean-blue eyes boring into him. "The Agency's reputation is impeccable, so I knew they wouldn't stick me with someone unsuitable. I just pulled your photo out of the pile my assistant gave me. You had the most interesting face."

Bruce's lips twitched. "Seriously? You're heir to the throne of one of the richest countries in the world, and you didn't do a background check on me?"

"When you meet my assistant, you'll understand why I didn't need one," Arthur replied, with a wink.

"So why am I here?" Bruce knew – or thought he did – but he wanted to hear it in Arthur's own words.

Arthur took another sip of his drink, and rattled the ice until it settled in the bottom of the glass. "It was my old man's idea."

He was silent for a long time before he spoke again.

"I'm trying to put together capital for a new venture – something on my own, not attached to the Curry name – and Dad thought I should have a companion for the wining and dining. Normally, I'd have just invited my best friend to serve as chatelaine, but she...well, she has little patience for power and financial brokers."

"And the gender of said companion for this venture wasn't a concern?"

"I thought you said you read my file," Arthur replied. "Or that you've at least seen a gossip column or two in your line of work."

"We don't deal in gossip." Even though Bruce knew Arthur's reputation – that he'd been a hard partier in prep school and college – he also knew that reputations could often be exaggerated.

"Gender's not an issue," Arthur said, shrugging those massive shoulders. "I don't like limiting my choices and I don't give a fuck who knows it."

"Now, that I believe," Bruce replied, his lips quirking into a genuine smile.

Arthur pointed the glass his way. "What about you?"

"Flexibility is a must in my line of work."

"Understandable, but what do you prefer?"

It wasn't a question he was used to answering from a client. Most of them didn't care. "I like a challenge," he finally answered. "Plumbing doesn't matter."

Arthur laughed softly and drained his drink. "Plumbing. I like that. Did you want to go out for dinner or order in or something else?"

Bruce couldn't tell if this was another test or if Arthur was really leaving it up to him. In either case, adaptability was one of his strengths. "Out. Should I call to have a table at The Ledbury ready?"

"I'll have Barry do it." Barry Allen was Arthur's EA, if Bruce's memory served. "I don't need you to be my assistant. Barry's pretty territorial where that's concerned, and he may look like a puppy on a rainbow cloud, but he's not someone you want to cross."

Bruce nodded. "Noted. Should I change or –?"

Arthur shook his head and gave him another long look. "Nah, you're fine," he drawled, infusing each word with a deeper meaning. "I do like the suit. You wear it _very_ well."

"Not as well as you wear yours," Bruce replied, the flirtatious tone second nature to him. It had the added benefit of being the truth.

"Thank you," Arthur said, with another one of those small half-smiles. "But, in the interest of full disclosure, I still prefer jeans and boots, and my bike to a limo, beer to cognac, pizza to truffles. We Currys might dress the part, but at heart, we're simple people."

Bruce knew differently – a family didn't build and maintain a centuries-old dynasty by being simple – but he didn't argue. Arthur might like to think of himself as the rugged outdoorsy type, but he'd come from a very long line of wealth and privilege. And while Bruce appreciated the Curry family motto of working one's way up and working for a living, it was a far cry from true poverty or roughing it.

"I'll try to use small words during dinner tonight so I don't confuse you."

He was rewarded by Arthur's surprised bark of laughter. "Yeah, you'll definitely do."

The way Arthur said it made it sound like the highest possible praise.

***

The Ledbury, nestled in the heart of Notting Hill, was modern, sleek, and ungodly expensive. But, for all that, there was surprisingly little pretension to the place, and the food was always uniformly excellent, without the fussiness of so many other Michelin-starred restaurants in the area. The maître d' greeted Arthur warmly by name and led them to a table tucked away in a corner. Arthur wasn't the type to see and be seen, then. Somehow, Bruce wasn't surprised. Arthur carried himself like a man secure of himself and his place in the world. 

True to his earlier words, Arthur did indeed order beer – a stout – and the lamb (although he did order a side of steamed vegetables – Bruce supposed even a man like Arthur had to work to maintain his physique.) Bruce also went with beer (his a lager), but ordered the aged pigeon at their server's recommendation.

"So tell me about yourself," Arthur said, once they'd gotten their drinks. He was slouched in his seat, tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. He looked relaxed, at ease, approachable. Nothing at all to suggest he was heir to the world's seventh-largest economy. Bruce wondered if it was an act for his benefit or if this was closer to Arthur's actual personality. Either way, the effect was effortlessly seductive, and Bruce was only human.

"What would you like to know?"

"The usual. Where you grew up, family, friends, school, how you got started in your line of work." In the low light, even Arthur's smile seemed softer. "Pretend we're on a first date."

"I'm not in the habit of going home with my first dates," Bruce pointed out.

"I promise not to take advantage when I walk you to your bedroom," Arthur replied, with another one of those quick winks.

Bruce wondered what Arthur's definition of taking advantage of was. And found he was greatly looking forward to finding out. "I grew up all over," he said. "My father's work meant we lived all over the world. I have one younger brother, Richard, who's a detective. He and his wife just had a baby girl, so I'm an uncle now." 

"Sounds lovely." Arthur's look turned wistful for a fleeting moment. "Do they live here or –?"

"Bludhaven. My folks are actually getting ready to move out there. They've been living in Gotham the last ten years or so, but now that one of us has given them grandkids...well, you know how it goes."

"And does your family know what you do for a living?" Far from sounding judgmental, Arthur merely sounded curious.

"That I'm a professional companion? Yes, they all know." Bruce shrugged, nonchalant. "It would have been stupid to try to lie about it, so I never bothered. I think, on the whole, they're alright with it, as long as they don't have to think about the fact that sometimes the job entails sex. But I suppose no parent likes to think about their children having sex."

Arthur chuckled and took a sip of his beer. "And how did you get started on this path?"

"College," Bruce replied. He didn't mind telling the story – he'd been telling the truth when he'd said he wasn't ashamed – but this was the first time in almost ten years of doing the job that a client had ever asked about it. It was...odd. And also weirdly intimate.

"College?" Arthur prompted, a clear invitation to keep talking.

"I was majoring in psychology at Columbia – had a full ride. But I still had to pay for books and food and beer, the usual – and a classmate in my Linguistics class, one of the Upper East Side set, offered me a rather ridiculous sum of money to pretend to be her boyfriend over the summer while she and her parents sailed the Riviera. Not being a total idiot – who turns down a free trip to France and Italy? – I said yes. We put together a story, her folks loved me, we all had a great time and that was that."

Arthur cupped his chin in his hand and leaned in, like Bruce's story was the most fascinating thing he'd ever heard. "Why did she need to pay someone to be her man?"

"Suppose I buried the lede, sorry." Bruce smiled in apology. "Harley – that was her name – came from the sort of old-fashioned family that wouldn't have appreciated their daughter's inclinations."

"Ah." Arthur's face cleared, then he frowned in sympathy. "Dear old dad wasn't down with having a lesbian for a daughter?"

Bruce nodded. "And since he controlled her trust until she turned 25, she played her part. I was also her boyfriend over Christmas that year; then we mutually _ended_ things so there wouldn't be any awkward questions from her parents about taking that next step, and she hired another friend of mine the next summer to play the part again. But I heard that once she finally came into her money, she came out and married the girl she'd met her freshman year."

"I'm glad she got the happy ending she deserved."

"Me too." Bruce took a sip of his own beer. "She and Pamela are perfect for each other. Anyway, she recommended me to another friend of hers who was looking for someone to accompany her to China, and since I knew Mandarin...well, it snowballed from there. Not too long after I graduated, I was approached by the Pennyworths to join The Agency. Seemed like a perfect fit, and I've been with them ever since."

"Considering their standards, I'd say it was more than simple luck that put you on their doorstep," Arthur replied, with another one of those approving looks that melted through Bruce's considerable defenses like a hot knife through butter. He was definitely going to have to keep an eye out.

"True, but that's not a good first date story," Bruce said, and paused while their food arrived – all the courses served farm-style, per Arthur's request. Once they were settled and had gotten another round, he resumed. "What about you? You never did answer my earlier question."

"Something not in my file." Arthur chewed slowly on a bit of his lamb. "What would you like to know?"

What indeed. Bruce already knew where Arthur had grown up, where he'd gone to college and grad school, what his degrees were in, his age and sexual preferences and other habits... "Tell me more about this venture you're starting."

"Seems pretty boring for a first date."

"You'll need to tell me eventually," Bruce pointed out.

"During business hours. Which this isn't."

"Alright," Bruce said, although he wondered why Arthur was trying so hard. He'd bought a month of Bruce's time. It was _all_ business, when it came right down to it. "Tell me about your foundation."

"See, there you go. Charity work is a much better first date conversation. Gives me a chance to impress you with my philanthropy, and maybe score another date," Arthur said, then grinned again, showing off twin dimples. It was rather infectious.

Bruce just gestured at him as he picked up his fork. "Alright, then. Impress me."

***

The easy conversation lasted throughout the rest of dinner and another round that turned into two. Arthur was a facile conversationalist, with a keen sense of humor and the rare ability to not take himself seriously. Talk of Arthur's foundation – which set up schools for girls in Afghanistan and Polynesia – led to talk of travel, both of them sharing stories of places they'd been, their most embarrassing anecdotes, and the worst airport to get stuck in (they agreed it was Ashgabat). As the night went on, Arthur seemed to relax even more; he smiled more broadly, showing off those dimples again, and laughed more easily. Bruce responded in kind, allowed his guard to come down just a little. They were going to be in close proximity for a month, after all. 

It was the most fun he'd had getting to know a client, and boded very well for their time together. Bruce could fake it with the best of them, but it always helped if he had a genuine liking for the people he worked for.

"See, safely at your door," Arthur commented, when they stepped back into the living room of the suite. His tie had disappeared entirely and he'd loosened another button on his shirt; when he put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, he looked much more like a schoolboy than a crown prince.

The effect was more than a little alluring.

"I'm not actually at my door yet," Bruce pointed out, but didn't move towards it. 

"Minor quibble," Arthur replied. "I'm going in to the office for a few hours in the morning to review some paperwork. Barry'll be working from here if you need anything. And I should be back by the time Mr. Chen arrives...unless you want privacy for the fitting."

"It's your money," Bruce told him. "You should be able to see how it's getting spent."

Arthur's brows furrowed, but he shrugged. "We can go over our itinerary for the week afterwards, if you want. Maybe order in. I know there's a lot of detail to cover."

"That's fine."

"Well, I did promise not to take advantage, so I'll let you get to bed." When Arthur smiled, the light from the fireplace seemed to highlight the sharpness of his cheekbones. "I had a nice time tonight."

"Me too." Bruce took a step forward, then another, until he was close enough to see that Arthur's eyes had tiny flecks of green mixed with the blue. Ocean eyes, he thought again. Deep, fathomless, and completely irresistible. 

Arthur's lips parted. He went very still. "You _don't_ have to –"

"Yeah, I kinda do." He'd been thinking about the taste of Arthur's mouth all night. And they might as well get this part out of the way. 

The sex wasn't always the part of the job that Bruce loved the most (there had been certain clients over the years who hadn't been his type, to put it kindly), but he prided himself on his skill in the bedroom, and there was the small matter of professional pride at stake. But Arthur...there was something about him that made Bruce think he was going to enjoy that aspect of their arrangement a lot more than with past clients.

He brushed his lips over Arthur's, light and easy, a test. When Arthur didn't retreat, he moved in again. Arthur's lips were soft against his and tasted slightly of hops, and Bruce had a few really nice moments to savor the heat of Arthur's body against his and the way their mouths slid together before Arthur did pull back.

"Satisfied?" Arthur asked, but didn't wait for a response. Those warm lips were back on Bruce's, and a soft tongue fluttered against his mouth, seeking entrance. With a small sigh, Bruce opened up to meet it.

 _This_ kiss was like nothing he had ever experienced. It was a slow burn that started somewhere around his middle and grew, creeping over his body until he was sure his very bones were going to melt into ash. It was nothing like the kisses he'd received from any other client, or, for that matter, any lover. This was something different, something more. And there was an odd purity about it that made even Bruce's pragmatic soul ache. 

When it ended, Bruce found his hands curled tight in the lapels of Arthur's jacket. If not for Arthur's arm around his waist, he'd have toppled onto the lush carpet. As it was, Bruce was having a very hard time remembering that he was under contract...and an even harder time remembering why he shouldn't just strip off his clothes right where he was and beg Arthur to fuck him senseless. 

It was the client's choice, always. He was there to serve their wishes and needs and wants, not his own.

"That was nice," Arthur murmured, with another soft kiss. The arm around Bruce's waist tightened as Arthur pressed another kiss to the nape of Bruce's neck, and inhaled. "Fuck me, but you taste sweet."

" _Arthur_." It was barely more than a whisper. He closed his eyes, blindly sought Arthur's lips. 

When his eyes fluttered open the second time, Arthur's small, genuine smile was the first thing he saw. "You don't kiss like someone only doing this for a paycheck," Arthur observed.

"Maybe because I'm not." He leaned in, nuzzled the soft skin just below Arthur's jaw, and just stayed there like that for a moment, his breath warm on Arthur's skin, the scent of Arthur's sharp, bold cologne filling his nostrils. "Maybe," he said again, voice low and husky, "I just want you, paycheck or no paycheck." 

"And why," Arthur asked, tilting his head to allow Bruce unfettered access to his neck, "do you suppose that is?"

"No idea," Bruce whispered. "I shouldn't. I'm a professional, and I should _not_ be imagining the things going through my head right now." 

"And what would those things be?" 

"Me. You. The two of us naked together. Gorging myself on every delectable inch of you until you're the only thing I can taste." Bruce would have to have been blind to miss the way Arthur's nostrils flared. "You fucking me until I can't remember a time when you weren't." 

"Sounds real nice...for a start," Arthur rasped, his voice that same low rumble that felt like it was hard-wired directly to Bruce's cock. 

"Then why are we still dressed?" Bruce blinked at how breathless his own voice was. And all of this without Arthur laying a single finger on him. He was well and truly fucked.

Arthur's teeth gleamed in promise when he smiled, and the sight of it punched through Bruce like a fist. "I like the way you think, Bruce Wayne." 

It was almost like Arthur had cast a spell on him, like his body was no longer his own, the heat pulsing between them a living, hungry thing. The tip of one of Arthur's fingers skimmed his jaw, the touch fleeting. Bruce couldn't believe how much he wanted, how much he _ached_ , from so light a caress. 

"Last chance to walk away," Arthur murmured. "When I touch you again, I don't intend to stop until I've had my fill of you, and I'm not entirely sure how long that's going to take."

"My contract's only a month." The words felt like they were being dragged from him. 

"You're not going to want to go home when it's done," Arthur countered, stray tendrils of hair brushing Bruce's cheek when he moved his head. 

Bruce swallowed hard, hands clenched into fists by his sides to keep from reaching out for more. "No," he whispered, "perhaps I won't." 

"Good." 

The next moment, soft lips crested the shell of his ear, and Bruce's eyes fluttered closed, half in pleasure and half in self-preservation. The caress moved from his ear to his jaw to his lips. Bruce's skin pebbled in anticipation, but he was happy enough to let Arthur lead the dance for now – and even if he hadn't been, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have had much of a choice.

Cool air kissed his skin, and it was only then that he realized Arthur had somehow unbuttoned his dress shirt. The chill only lasted a minute before large hands started to map his chest, the touch electrifying his nerves. With a moan, he leaned in, flicked his tongue along the seam of Arthur's lips. 

Arthur hummed into the kiss, and his fingertips slid along Bruce's chest, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You are going to be so beautiful all full of my cock." 

Bruce growled – in lust, need, expectation, even he wasn't entirely sure. "So take me to bed and fuck me already." 

"You're right." There was no laughter in Arthur's voice now. "Come on."

Once they stepped past the threshold of the room, Bruce stopped and stared in appreciation at the California King bed taking up a great deal of the space, and the Jacuzzi set up just steps beyond it. "Were you planning on hosting an orgy while you were here?" 

Low laughter reverberated along his spine. "Why, you have any friends you can call?"

Bruce shrugged to cover the shiver. "Depends on what you wanted."

Teeth lightly dragged along the nape of his neck. "Right now, I just want you, in as many different positions as we can manage."

"Challenge accepted." Bruce twisted in Arthur's arms, fisting his hands in Arthur's hair as he deepened the kiss. With a low hum of pleasure, Arthur wrapped tight arms around him, and pulled him in so close Bruce could feel the slow thud of Arthur's heart beating against his own.

This kiss was different from the others, and Bruce was helpless under its spell, gave himself over to pure sensation. The force of it sucked him in and down, twisted him up, and splintered him apart. All he could do was hold on for dear life and kiss back, clutching tight to silky hair that slid forward over his hands and face. "Were you planning on fucking me in the bed or the Jacuzzi first?"

"Where would you like me to take you first?" Arthur reached for the zipper of Bruce's slacks, dragged it down with a harsh rasp. "Wherever we wind up, I plan to worship every gorgeous inch of you," Arthur stated, his voice thick with want. 

Bruce didn't even bother to answer. All he knew was that he had to get Arthur naked now, so he could explore every bit of that solid, muscled body. A few buttons flew in his haste to get Arthur's shirt unbuttoned, and Arthur just laughed, shrugging out of it and his jacket. Then Bruce's fingers turned thick as he started on the zipper of Arthur's slacks. He had to stop, take a deep breath, and try again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so clumsy, so full of need. And certainly not ever with a client.

When Arthur stepped out of his trousers and started to reach for Bruce again, Bruce stopped him with a hand to his chest. "Just...let me look at you for a minute." 

Without a shred of doubt, Prince Arthur Curry was the most perfect example of male virility on the planet. Bruce's gaze swept in silent admiration over miles of sculpted muscle, the strong slope of wide shoulders, the expanse of a muscled chest that had...

"Ah _fuck_ , the tattoos," Bruce groaned. He'd known that Arthur had them, of course, but it was one thing to see them in an image, and quite another to see them in person, the way the dark ink looked in contrast to sun-kissed skin.

Arthur just laughed and spread his arms out wide. "I take they please you?"

"Now you're just fishing." Bruce circled Arthur, each step slow and deliberate. He stopped behind him and reached out to drag light fingers over the lines and whorls marking Arthur's lower back. "They look tribal. Are they all Atlantean in nature?" 

"They are." Then a hand closed around Bruce's wrist, and Arthur pulled Bruce around so they were facing each other. "I'll tell you the stories behind them all later. Over breakfast." 

Bruce nodded, and stepped in until their chests brushed together. The heat radiating between them threatened to incinerate him, and he welcomed it with open arms. He curled a hand behind Arthur's neck. The other slid down Arthur's chest, over his stomach. "I want you so deep inside me that nothing else exists." 

"By the time I'm done with you, nothing will," Arthur promised, and hearing it sent a sharp thrill down Bruce's spine. 

Arthur started walking, gently guiding Bruce until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He allowed himself to fall, pulling Arthur with him, and the first feel of Arthur's heavy, muscled body pinning him to the mattress was another thrill. He wasn't used to feeling either small or cherished, but Arthur's sheer bulk made it easy.

"Lie back and relax," Arthur said, eyes flashing with humor and warmth. "I'm in the mood for exploring."

Exploring? Bruce frowned in confusion, then gasped when the tip of Arthur's tongue ran a light path along one of his shoulders. "I want to know if you taste as good all over."

Oh, right. _Exploring_.

By the time Arthur made his way down to Bruce's chest, Bruce was a quivering mass of need. When Arthur dipped his tongue further south, parting the coarse hairs that trailed along Bruce's abdomen, his entire world had already narrowed to the tumble of sensations coursing through him, each one more vivid than the last. Arthur was insanely patient; he laved so much attention over Bruce's body that Bruce felt like he was drowning.

"Please...please, I need..." 

Bruce wasn't sure what he was asking for, just that he wanted more. Each shift of Arthur's body, each slick glide of his tongue, each feather-light kiss of his hair along Bruce's skin, sent another shock wave of pleasure through him. And once Arthur reached the crease of his hip and thigh, Bruce was writhing on the sheets, incoherent with lust. "Arthur..." 

"Shh, I'm taking my time here," Arthur admonished. "A body this beautiful deserves to be revered." 

Christ, he was going to die. "Fuck me..." 

"Oh, we'll get there, I promise. Now...where was I...?"

With that, Arthur resumed, trailing his tongue and lips along the proud curve of Bruce's cock, the soft skin that stretched tight over his balls; lingering along the sensitive inside of his thighs so long that Bruce thought he might die from the pleasure of it. Even his voice deserted him under the gentle onslaught. This was opulence on a whole new level – it was as if Bruce was the absolute center of Arthur's universe.

When Arthur gently nudged him over onto his stomach, it felt as if every bone in Bruce's body had dissolved into dust. And still, Arthur took his time: licked a slow path along Bruce's back and waist, leaving no inch of skin untouched or unmarked. The sheer amount of pleasure sweeping through Bruce was going to kill him. There was just no way to avoid it. He fisted the sheets weakly, pressed his face into the pillow, and tried not to writhe on the bed. Every nerve was over-sensitized, so much so that the slightest effort on his part would send him tumbling over the edge. 

Nothing in his life had prepared him for the overwhelming tumult of desire tumbling through him. Bruce _wanted_ – more than he'd ever wanted anyone or anything in his life. It didn't matter that he and Arthur had just met, that Arthur was a client, a prince, that their lives spun in very different circles. The force of his need shattered something deep inside him, but also filled him with a cascading truth that made the pain worth it. 

"I've got you, love," Arthur crooned. "I'm right here." 

The voice was soft, soothing jagged nerves, a stark contrast to the slick fingers that pushed inside him, shocking his body back into awareness. "Oh God, _fuck_..."

"Focus on me," Arthur ordered, quiet and sure. "I've got you."

Blindly, Bruce reached back, pulling Arthur close as the fingers twisted, stretched him for the welcome invasion to come. _More_ , was all he could think. He wanted more. He wanted everything Arthur was offering, and the thought should have sent him running out the door. Instead, Bruce arched his back, offered himself as he felt the first thick press of Arthur's cock inside him.

"That's it... _yes_..." Arthur hissed through his teeth, the sound sending a shiver up Bruce's spine. Strong fingers gripped his hips tight enough to bruise, and Bruce welcomed it, pushed back, but Arthur held him completely motionless as he pressed deeper. It burned, the shock of it delicious and dark – Bruce's skin felt too tight, stretched thin over trembling muscles. He braced one hand against the headboard, reached back to grasp Arthur's hip with the other. Warm breath ghosted along his nape, and Bruce's head fell to the side. 

"Knew you'd look beautiful just like this. Open for me, pliant, all stuffed full of my cock." 

"You feel...God, you feel..." Bruce's normal articulation deserted him. He hoped Arthur got the point anyway.

Soft lips met his for a brief kiss. "Tell me how much you love my cock in you, my hands on you..."

Each word was another hammer strike under his skin, each flex of Arthur's hips another declaration. "Yes, please..." Bruce managed, croaking the word through dry lips, mouth full of cotton. "Please..."

"Move with me," Arthur commanded, then buried himself to the hilt in Bruce's ass. Bruce clamped down around him, tried to match each movement as Arthur started fucking him in earnest, pushing so deep with each thrust that Bruce knew he'd carry the marks deep inside, long after the bruises faded.

He scrambled to adjust his grip on the headboard, both hands grasping so tight his knuckles were white and his hands were numb. Each thrust rocked him forward. He teetered on the edge, looming over the abyss, and he knew that he would gladly tumble over, as long as he could bring Arthur with him. 

"Tell me." 

The soft words hit like a whip crack, and Bruce's control, what little there was, threatened to shatter completely. He held tight to it, to the memory of who he was, until Arthur rocked into him again. " _Tell_ me."

Then Bruce felt the scrape of teeth against his neck, and the last, tenuous thread snapped. "Only you..." It was a plea, a curse, a promise torn from the very depths of his being.

"Only you," Arthur repeated, "only _us_..." And then Arthur snapped forward again, thrusting deep, and Bruce could only welcome the void with a non-verbal scream that started from his toes and swept along his entire body like a flash flood. If this was death, he welcomed it with open arms.

***

When Bruce came back to himself, it took more than a few beats for him to focus on his surroundings. He was snuggled against something warm as gentle hands swept down his back in a soothing gesture. It was another moment before he remembered where he was and what had happened. "Arthur?" 

"Right here." The words reverberated against Bruce's ear. He shivered, tried to press closer, but his body refused to cooperate. "Easy, I've got you." 

"What...what just...?" Why was it so hard to _think_? 

"I believe it's commonly referred to as passing out," Arthur replied, sounding amused. Bruce thought he should take offense at that, but he couldn't summon the energy. 

"That, uh...you should know, that's never happened before."

"I figured." Arthur tightened his arm around Bruce's waist as he pressed a light kiss to Bruce's neck. "I'd say we have our answer."

Bruce struggled to figure out what Arthur was talking about, but his brain was still a fuzzy and dizzying mess of sensation. "Answer to what?" He wasn't even aware there was a question.

"To whether I'll let you out of my sight even long enough to get your things from wherever it is you live."

The quiet words shocked Bruce's brain back to full function. He wrapped strands of black hair around his fingers and studied the contrast, struggling to find the right words, when they'd always come so easily in the past. "Arthur...I'll have to go at some point. I have clients lined up after you."

"I know," Arthur replied quietly. "And trust me, I don't want to own you. I know you have obligations and contracts that you can't break. But what I want from you has nothing to do with your profession or your contract with me."

"I've tried outside relationships before. They've never ended well." And just thinking about them sent a low pang echoing in his heart. "You say now that you're fine with what I do for a living, but –" 

"I'm not the jealous sort," Arthur replied, calmly. His kiss was light, served to soothe Bruce's nerves like a balm. "I would never ask you to stop doing something you're obviously very good at. But you said it yourself earlier – this isn't something either of us can ignore. And we both know by the end of the month, it'll be even worse."

Bruce closed his eyes, thumped his head back onto the pillow. How the hell had his life gotten so complicated over the course of just one day? "I've never gone out with a client after my contract has ended." 

"Lucky me that I'll be the first." Arthur smiled then, that same cocky, toothy grin he'd given Bruce when they'd first met (just a few hours ago, but it seemed like a lifetime) and something in it eased the band that had been tightening in Bruce's chest.

With a soft sigh, Bruce shifted to roll into Arthur's warmth, and hissed when sore muscles protested the movement. He was a professional companion, for God's sake. Sex – even hardcore sex – should not make him sore. 

"Problems?" Arthur asked, and damned if he didn't sound deeply amused. 

"Ah, no, no, I'm good," Bruce said, lying perfectly still. Then he exhaled loudly and looked at the ceiling. "Is the Jacuzzi just for show or is it actually operational?" 

"Oh it's the real deal." Arthur rolled off the bed, and Bruce looked on appreciatively as Arthur bent to turn on the jets. "See something you like?" he asked, turning and meeting Bruce's look.

"Very much so." Bruce forced all of his numerous questions and concerns aside for the moment. There was nothing he could do about them now. "But I think I'm going to need some recovery time."

"I'm a champion cuddler, if I say so myself," Arthur said. "Do you need help getting up?"

"I might," Bruce said, and held out his hand. He groaned when Arthur grabbed it and tugged. "Fuck me..." 

Arthur laughed, pulling Bruce from the bed and guiding him towards the water. "Oh, I plan on fucking you again, and _definitely_ plan on you fucking me at some point. But not just yet." 

"I appreciate it." The water enveloped him, instantly soothing his body, and he sighed in relief. He might never move from this spot. Especially not if Arthur was going to hold him close. 

"Better?" 

"Much." 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Bit by slow bit, Bruce began to relax, to feel the slackening in the aching morass that was his body. "I could sit here for a year."

"Might prune up, but I bet you'd still be pretty."

Bruce laughed, the sound carefree even to his own ears. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt truly relaxed. "Pretty's not a thing I think I've ever been called before."

"That's a shame, too, because you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen when you're coming for me."

Bruce's head lolled over, and he opened his eyes just enough to look at Arthur. Fuck it, there was still too much distance between them. He twisted around, and smiled as he straddled Arthur's lap. "And I guess now you feel obligated to make me come again?" he asked, as he shifted, the water pushing them closer together. 

"Keep that up and it'll be round two before you know it." 

Bruce moaned when the head of Arthur's cock nudged just inside him. "What makes you think I'm not ready?"

"Guess you are," Arthur murmured, and grabbed his hips, pushing into him in one slow thrust. Bruce's head fell forward to rest against Arthur's shoulder as he started to rotate his hips, fucking himself on Arthur's cock. It was slower this time, easier, and they rocked together as the water lapped over their skin. 

"Didn't tell you before," Bruce said, panting each word, as Arthur's hand curled around his length. "Love...the way you feel inside me..." 

"And I love how I...feel inside you," Arthur said, accentuating each word with a deft flick of his wrist that had Bruce gasping for breath. "Love how _tight_ your ass grips me...like you don't want to let me go..."

"I don't." It was little more than a whisper. He was scared as hell to realize it might be true.

"Could fuck you just like this...all night, all day...all month." Arthur's lips found Bruce's, the kiss mimicking the slow, voluptuous movement inside him. "Might keep you right here."

"I might just let you." Bruce's tongue slid along Arthur's, and he knew his face was flushed when he lifted his head. 

Arthur groaned, the sound heartfelt, coming from someplace deep inside him. "You should see how beautiful your ass is, stretching around me...maybe we can film it next time, let you see what you look like..."

"Think I'd let you...fuck me...anywhere, any time..." Bruce arched up when Arthur hit the right spot inside him just as the assured hand around his cock tightened, almost like Arthur already knew everything that made him scream. Thankfully, he didn't pass out this time, but he was shaking and breathless, spots dancing in front of his eyes as he shuddered in the aftermath. 

There was no way he was moving under his own power anytime soon.

"Don't pass out on me again," Arthur said, leaning in to nuzzle the soft skin just below Bruce's jaw. 

"Don't tempt me."

"Yeah, I _really_ like you, alright." With that, Arthur carefully carried Bruce out of the Jacuzzi like he weighed nothing. Bruce shivered from the change in temperature, water sluicing over his body, rivulets coursing a path along Arthur's skin. Their lips met in another soft, languid kiss, and Bruce felt a shifting deep in his soul. He wondered how (or if) he could walk away from this, from the tangle of new emotions that were already threatening to swallow him whole. 

Leaning against Arthur's warmth, Bruce buried his face in sweat-dampened hair and let Arthur soothe him. "Thank you," he whispered, and knew he didn't need to explain why.

"No, Bruce, thank _you_ ," Arthur replied, just as softly. His arms were tight, comforting around Bruce's waist. "C'mon, let's get back in bed. We can talk about everything in the morning, and figure out what we're going to do."

There was nothing to figure out – Arthur was a prince and Bruce was essentially the hired help – and temporary hired help, at that. So, no, Bruce didn't want to think about tomorrow or the end of the month, didn't want to think about everything he was going to have to deal with or how. Right now, he just wanted to block out the rest of the world, and pretend, just for a little while, that this thing between them was sustainable. 

"Bed sounds like a brilliant idea," he replied, wincing at how raspy his voice sounded. Then sighed in appreciation as Arthur quickly dried them both off, then eased him back into the bed and under cool sheets. Bruce snuggled in close when Arthur settled in behind him, already addicted to how those strong arms felt around his body.

"I mean it, you know. I've got a month to convince you we're a match, and I'll be making the most of it," Arthur murmured, the words barely stirring the air, but they still rocked through Bruce like a tsunami hitting shore.

"We'll see," he replied, struggling for equilibrium and finding none.

"Yes, we will." And the way Arthur said it, it sounded like a vow.

Bruce didn't bother to reply – there was nothing he could say. But he found himself hoping – foolish, but he couldn't deny it – that Arthur would succeed.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the awesome and beauteous [Susiecarter](https://susiecarter.tumblr.com) for the perfect advice and even more perfect beta!!! Any remaining mistakes are on me.
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](https://brendaonao3.tumblr.com)! :D


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